Panhandle raiders, p.13
Panhandle Raiders, page 13
While the fight raged, Jim paused on the middle coach’s forward platform to reload, then pushed his way into the first coach. Major Saunders and Sergeant Duffy whirled with drawn guns to face the coldly determined Ranger.
“Texas Rangers! You’re under arrest!” Blawcyzk calmly stated, his voice low and menacing.
“I hardly think so,” Saunders snarled as without a word Duffy leveled his pistol at the Ranger’s middle. Before the sergeant could thumb back the hammer Jim fired his own Colt, the bullet slamming into Duffy’s chest just under the left shirt pocket and spinning him half-around. Duffy grunted as the slug tore into him, crumpled onto an empty seat, then slipped to the floor.
As Duffy went down, Saunders yanked his saber from its scabbard and lunged at Blawcyzk. Reacting instantly, Jim triggered his sixgun again, but was foiled by the rocking of the train, which was now gathering even more speed on the downgrade as the engineer desperately attempted to outrun the outlaws. The bullet went wide of its mark and Saunders slashed out with his saber, ripping Jim’s shirt across the chest and opening a long slash across his right breast, angling downward across the Ranger’s chest and stomach. Blood ran freely from the jagged wound, mixing with the sweat matting the thick blonde hair on Blaw-cyzk’s chest and belly.
As Jim stumbled backwards in pain and shock, Saunders sneered in triumph as he drew back his saber to drive it through the Ranger’s belly. Jim barely sidestepped in time to catch the flat of the thrusting blade between his right arm and side, pinning it. He jabbed the barrel of his Peacemaker into the pit of the major’s stomach and pulled the trigger.
As the bullet tore through him Saunders sagged back, but his eyes still held their malevolent gleam and his hand still tightly gripped the handle of his saber. As he took one staggering step toward Blawcyzk, Jim lifted the muzzle of his pistol slightly and fired again, this bullet slamming into the middle of Saunders’ chest and through his heart. The renegade major was smashed back against the bulkhead of the coach by the impact of the point-blank slug. With a final defiant curse, Saunders slid down the wall, then toppled sideways to the floor.
Blawcyzk sagged against a blood-splattered bench just as Smoky burst through the door and rushed up to him.
“Jim! Are you okay?” Smoky shouted, his eyes widening at the blood running down his partner’s chest, Blawcyzk’s ripped-open shirt revealing the vicious slash across his upper torso.
“Yeah … I’ll be … okay, Smoke,” Jim nodded, gasping. “Rudy’s somewhere on this train too.” As if on cue the rear door of the coach quietly opened and Rudy Flores appeared, a still-smoking Colt in his hand.
“Jim?” Flores took in the gruesome scene before him.
“I’ll be … fine, Rudy. Just let me … rest a couple of minutes.” Jim’s breathing was heavy, his eyes glassy with pain, and he swayed drunkenly with the train’s motion. Smoky watched him closely while Rudy scanned the passengers for any possum playing robbers. As the rails clicked hypnotically below, Jim suddenly jerked his head up and his eyes became focused.
“Hey, one of you get the engineer to stop this thing,” he ordered. “We’ve got to round up Brian and Jeff.”
CHAPTER 15
With a soft groan Jim slumped across the bench, his gun loose in his fingers. Smoky leaned worriedly over his partner, looking fearfully at the copiously bleeding saber wound slicing across Blawcyzk’s chest and stomach.
“Smoky, I’ll get the engineer to stop,” Flores flatly stated. “You get Jim patched up.” Blood dripped from a bullet slash above Rudy’s left ear, and a crimson stain on the right side of his shirt indicated where a slug had torn along his ribs.
A fortyish matron in the seat behind Blawcyzk and McCue calmly told Smoky, “Ranger, I have an extra petticoat in my traveling bag. I’ll help you care for your partner.” She stood up and removed a battered blue and red carpetbag from the overhead shelf.
“Thank you, ma’am. I’m obliged,” Smoky answered as he pulled off Jim’s torn, blood-soaked shirt.
“That goes for me as well, ma’am,” Jim weakly answered. His blue eyes were now glazed with pain.
“Anything I can do to help, Rangers. My word, what was all that about?” the woman questioned. Now that the shooting had stopped and Saunders and his men were lying dead or wounded on the coach floors or scattered back along the tracks, several of the male passengers came forward to offer the Rangers assistance.
“Those hombres that have been raiding the stages and raillines took on this train. We almost beat ‘em to it,” Smoky briefly explained, his calloused fingers surprisingly gentle as he deftly pushed together the edges of the saber slash across Jim’s chest and stomach. As with most Rangers, necessity had made Smoky fairly proficient at rough frontier doctoring. While he worked on his partner’s wound he glanced up at the hovering men and suggested, “You might want to get those bodies out of the way for now.”
“Here, Ranger. I’m Nancy Cochran, by the way.” The buxom matron had ripped several strips from a clean petticoat and now handed them to Smoky, then helped him lift Jim’s shoulders so he could bind the wound tightly.
“Well, I sure appreciate your help, ma’am,” Smoky gratefully replied. “I’m Smoky McCue, and my pard here’s Jim Blawcyzk. I must say you’ve been mighty brave about this, Miz Cochran”
“Mercy sakes, this is nothing,” Nancy declared. “My husband Barry and I fought the Comanches for years after we settled in Texas. And we even managed to have a boy and a girl while those Indians were still prowling around. However, I must admit you boys did put on quite a show today.” She smiled as she propped Jim against the seat back while Smoky finished bandaging his chest.
“There Jim. That’s the best I can do for now,” Smoky said as he straightened up.
“It feels pretty good, Smoke. Thanks,” Jim answered as he struggled to sit up.
“Hey! Where do you think you’re goin’, pardner? You don’t want to bust yourself wide open again,” Smoky cautioned.
“We’re not finished yet. We’ve still got to find Brian and Jeff and round up our horses.” Jim stared at his partner for a minute, then started chuckling uncontrollably.
“What the devil’s so funny, Blawcyzk?” Smoky growled.
“Just you.” Jim paused for a moment to catch his breath. McCue was black from head to toe, covered with soot and cinders from the locomotive’s smokestack. “You look just like your name, pard … Smoky!”
“That’s not funny, Jim,” Smoky grumbled.
“I’m afraid your partner is right.” Nancy Cochran giggled, then began laughing uproariously when the rest of the passengers joined in, as much from suddenly relieved tension as the hilarity of Jim’s comment.
“It’s still not that funny,” Smoky repeated.
“Smoke, you could always tell me your real name,” Jim pointed out.
“And like I’ve told you before Jim, if I ever did I’d have to gutshoot you,” Smoky retorted. “C’mon, let’s get you settled, then I’ll see if Rudy needs any help.” The train was now noticeably losing speed.
“When you find him, tell him to have the engineer back this thing up,” Jim ordered, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “We’ve got to find Jeff and Brian and our horses.”
“Sure, Jim.” Knowing his partner as he did, Smoky was certain Jim was as concerned about the fate of their mounts as those of the railroad detective and marshal, maybe even more so.
Rudy had no difficulty convincing the engineer to stop once he finally got past the express car. The guards inside, under strict orders not to open that car for anyone, at first refused to let the swarthy Texican pass through the car. Rudy then considered the roof, but quickly discarded the idea when he realized such a move would most likely get him blasted off the train by a shotgun load of buckshot. Instead he kept arguing with the rightfully dubious guards. Finally convinced by the badge Flores wore as well as the outlaws they’d seen shot from their horses, the two express messengers warily opened the reinforced door. The leveled muzzles of their shotguns never left Rudy’s belly until he was out the other door and climbing onto the tender. Rudy knew the guards would have cut him down instantly at the slightest false move, and at that range their buckshot would have cut him to ribbons. The guards eased back a bit as the train slowed, and a few moments later when Smoky entered the car they were visibly relieved.
“Those hombres taken care of, Ranger?” one of the guards, youthful and sporting a wispy mustache, asked in a shaky voice, still clutching his double-barreled Greener.
“It looks like it. Just keep an eye peeled for stragglers,” McCue ordered as he headed for the engine’s cab, where Rudy had already convinced the crew to stop the train.
Flores whirled at the sound of someone behind him, instinctively reaching for his pistol as Smoky jumped down from the tender. He relaxed as he recognized his partner.
“Smoky, is Jim gonna be all right?” he questioned as he slid the gun back into its holster.
“I’ve got to say I’m afraid so, Rudy.” Smoky ruefully shook his head. “The lieutenant’s givin’ orders already, as usual.” He turned to the gray-bearded engineer and gangly teenaged fireman. “Our boss wants you to back this train up to the water stop. If you see any horses or riders along the way make sure you stop for them. We’ve got a couple of pardners following us.”
“With pleasure, Ranger,” the engineer readily agreed, his relief plain in his voice and evident all over his countenance. He shoved the throttle into reverse, released the brake, and the young fireman resumed his steady shoveling rhythm. The train headed uphill, slowly at first, then gradually building speed as it crested the summit.
“Shouldn’t you slow this thing down a bit, Mister?” Smoky anxiously asked as the train gained momentum on the downslope, the cars tilting and swaying as they rounded several curves.
“I was just gettin’ ready to do that, Ranger,” the engineer answered as he eased off on the throttle and partially engaged the brake. “There. That better?” he grinned as the train slowed considerably.
“Much,” Smoky agreed. “And don’t forget to keep an eye peeled for our pards.”
“Of course,” the engineer reassured him. “I haven’t forgotten about ‘em.”
The train continued to roll back downgrade, soon reaching the level, straight stretch between the cut and the water stop. Before long Smoky shouted for the engineer to halt as he spied Jeff Wehner and Brian Wood alongside the rails. Several men in cavalry uniforms, their hands tied, stood sullenly under the watchful eyes and steady rifles of the lawmen. And to Smoky’s great relief Soot and Sam were peacefully grazing a short way off, along with Brian’s grulla and Jeff’s buckskin.
Jim had managed to stumble out of the lead coach even before the train had come to a complete stop and Smoky and Rudy had swung down from the locomotive’s cab.
“Jeff! Brian!” he exclaimed as he stepped down to the roadbed. Hearing Jim’s voice, Sam lifted his head and whickered to his friend. Jim smiled and called out, “I’ll be with you in a bit, pal.” To Jeff and Brian he continued, “I see you rounded up a few.”
“We sure did,” Wehner replied, “And as we guessed they’re regular Army, under the command of a Major Thaddeus Saunders.” High on the right shoulder of the detective’s shirt was a spreading crimson stain, while Wood’s left arm hung limp in a makeshift sling, the forearm shattered by a rifle slug. A bandanna wrapped around the marshal’s right leg soaked up blood oozing from a bullet tear in his thigh.
“Well, Saunders won’t be commanding anyone except those hombres shoveling coal into Hell’s furnaces,” Smoky dryly remarked as he strode up.
“It looks like you’ve already been down there,” Brian laughed as he appraised the soot-streaked Ranger.
“Not you too, Wood,” Smoky growled.
“Yeah, and how come you’re the only one of us who didn’t catch a slug, Smoky?” Wehner challenged as he gazed at the bandages wrapped around Jim’s chest. “And who’s your friend?” He nodded toward Rudy, who was making his way back along the train.
“That’s Ranger Rudy Flores,” Jim explained, greeting Sam with a fond slap on the neck as the paint trotted up to him and nuzzled his shoulder. “Captain Trumbull got our wire, and got a message through to Rudy in time to get him on board.” Glancing at McCue he continued, “Yeah, Smoke. How’d you miss takin’ a bullet, when the rest of us got shot up?”
“These renegades didn’t want to mess up my handsome face,” Smoky retorted. The others responded to his smirk with groans of disbelief.
“Well what now, Jim?” Brian asked, getting back to business. “Are we haulin’ these hombres back to my jail?”
Blawcyzk shook his head as peeled off his torn shirt, tossed it aside, and dug in his saddlebags for a clean one. “What you do with the train and the money is your decision, Jeff,” he told Wehner. “But these men are in Ranger custody, and we’ll be taking them back to Fort Griffin, Marshal,” he said in answer to Wood’s question. “I imagine Colonel Thomas will have plans for a court martial. If he doesn’t, then we’ll bring charges against ‘em in the circuit court.”
CHAPTER 16
“In spite of everything you’ve told me, even now I find it extremely difficult to believe Thaddeus Saunders convinced an entire company of his troopers to go along with this infernal scheme,” Colonel Lyndall Thomas flatly declared over a puff of smoke from the huge cigar he held clamped between his teeth. His dark eyes still held a flat challenge as he gazed at Blawcyzk. “I would have thought at least one man, if not several, would have revealed his plans to myself or another officer.”
The Rangers had returned with their prisoners to Fort Griffin, where the captives were now safely ensconced in the post stockade. The bodies of Major Saunders, Sergeant Duffy, and the rest of the outlaw soldiers killed in the aborted train robbery had also been returned to the fort where they would be discreetly buried, without ceremony or military honors, in the post cemetery. Jeff Wehner had wired that the gold shipment was safely at its destination, while Brian Wood was back at his office in Graham, his wounded arm in a sling. He would have to decide fairly quickly who he could hire as a deputy until he recovered from his wounds sufficiently to return fully to his duties. Jim, Smoky, and Rudy had spent the last three hours briefing Thomas on what had transpired the past few days.
“At least a couple of them did try Colonel, from what we’ve learned,” Jim answered, “but Saunders had them murdered, then reported to you that they had died in the line of duty while fighting Comanches. And at least one man, Private Luis Rivera, was killed by a stagecoach shotgun guard.” Still uncomfortably bandaged around his torso, Jim twisted around in his chair. “However, the clincher was that information you provided before Smoky and I left here. Every robbery coincided with the times Saunders and his men were out on patrol. While they were here at the fort, not one person, stage, or train was held up.”
“It’s still hard to believe,” Thomas muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “A career officer with a service record as fine as Major Saunders’…” His voice trailed off in dejection. The colonel took another puff on his cigar before continuing.
“Lieutenant Blawcyzk, Corporal McCue, I would like to apologize for the reception I gave you when you first arrived here in Fort Griffin.”
“There’s no apology necessary, Colonel,” Jim easily replied. “We both kind of got off on the wrong foot that day. And I can certainly understand why you were reluctant to think any soldiers under your command would be involved in wholesale robbery and murder. I’d have the same problem believing that about any of the men I’ve served with in the Texas Rangers.”
“I don’t know about that,” Thomas suddenly grinned as he gazed at Smoky McCue, who was tipped back in a chair in the corner where he was happily puffing away on one of the colonel’s expensive cigars. “Your partner there certainly was quick enough about stealing one of my cheroots.”
“I prefer the term ‘borrowed’, Colonel.” Smoky chuckled as he took a sip of bourbon from the glass in his hand. “And this is real fine whiskey you’ve got here too.”
“Colonel, any time you want to press charges against my pard, I’ll be happy to oblige you,” Jim laughed. “In fact we could have a court martial right now.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Thomas smiled. “However, speaking of that, I would request you remain here for the courts-martial of those men if at all possible. We will require your testimony.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem, at least for Smoky and myself. I’ll wire Captain Trumbull just to make sure he doesn’t have anything else planned for us,” Jim replied, then took a long drink of water from the cut-crystal tumbler he held. His gaze then turned to Rudy Flores, who was relaxing in a big leather chair in the corner opposite Smoky. Flores also held a glass of the colonel’s aged bourbon and was smoking one of his expensive cigars.
“How about you, Rudy?” Jim asked. “Do you have to be back in Mineral Wells at any particular time?”
“Nope.” Rudy grinned broadly as he replied. “Cap’n Trumbull turned me loose under your orders until Jim Huggins and some of the men from Company C get up here. Then I’m to ride with them.”
“Sergeant Huggins is on his way up here?” Jim echoed.
